


Edible Paint

by inurclosets



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-05-10 16:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5592613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inurclosets/pseuds/inurclosets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Alistair wanted was to label his shield with a touch of paint. It was meant to clear up any confusion as to whose was what but sometimes even the simple things can prove far more involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based vaguely on my save files. I didn't want the warden to be the focus so they're not very prominent or distinguished with a personality in the story. Just assume they care about everyone and happen to be a warrior class. (i also didn't take the time to edit, sorry ;;;; )

"Does anyone have paint I can borrow?" Alistair asked while turning over his shield, trying to map the most ideal spot to place his name.

"Paint? Certainly," the assassin got to his feet and disappeared into his tent, returning with a small tube that did indeed appear to be paint.

Alistair turned over the tube with confusion, not used to seeing it in such a form nor with the words ‘edible’ lettered on the label.

“Erm… Zevran, are you certain I can use this to label my shield?” he eyed the scrappy wooden shield the warden had determined held greater value than his previous and had hoped to label it so it wouldn’t get mixed up amongst their things.

“That? Oh no, no,” Zevran glanced over and began shaking his head, “That is Antivan body paint, made entirely for pleasurable consumption between the passion of one’s body and tongue. It would likely wash away with the first rain if you were try to try to mark your shield with it.”

“… _The paint’s supposed to go where?_ ” Alistair gave the former assassin an exacerbated look.

Zevran raised a brow at the question before laughing, “Surely the idea of a lover is not too foreign for someone like yourself. A moment of intimacy and fun – if the opportunity for such should arise, I would recommend you give it a try yourself. You seem increasingly high strung as of late.”

“What?” Alistair barked then baffled stumbled verbally to form anything resembling a proper sentence, “I’m not-This is-…. R-recommend me!! –I am not high strung!”

Zevran’s grin only grew the more Alistair grappled about, his face reddening as entertainment glinted in Zevran’s eyes, “I only meant to suggest that you come across that way, Alistair. I meant not offence, though if you’d like some company or perhaps someone to show you just where that paint goes, you are more than free to ask. I would be happy to help whichever way I can.”

“I wasn’t—Oh Maker,” Alistair excused himself before he dug himself a bigger hole, his face feeling as hot as the fire as he went to crouch next to Barkspawn with the tube of edible paint gripped tightly in his hand. He really aught to have just given it back while he had the chance.

The dog gave him a curious look, tilting its head to one side as if perplexed by Alistair's sudden company.

"It's nothing important, don't you worry about it," Alistair assured the dog, releasing a sigh as he took a seat on the ground beside the dog.

Barkspawn whined before letting out a conversational bark.

"Unrelenting, are we?" Alistair gave the mabari a doubtful look, "I just don't know how to give this back without seeming even more of a target for that man's… _Teasing_. Does he ever speak to you about things?"

Barkspawn gave another conversational bark. Alistair assumed that mean yes.

"Does he tease you too?" he raised his brows skeptically.

The mabari barked once more, dropping to the ground and rolling over as if it wished to play.

"I'm in the middle of crisis. I can't play right now," Alistair frowned at the dog only to receive another bark, "No, I mean it. I really can't."

The dog got up and sat around Alistair's back facing the camp. He turned to face the dog, seeing now that Zevran had been swept into a conversation with Leliana.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" Alistair accused the dog though it hardly seemed bothered by the fact. It just sat there wagging its tail contently, tongue hanging out of its mouth. He released a sigh, sinking around his knees, "I'll bet I'm the only one who goes to a dog for help."

Barkspawn nudged Alistair's arm, finding room to place its oversized head on his lap, looking all too cheerful given the circumstance. Alistair's frown became increasingly downtrodden even as he pet the dog's head, "Do the others even talk to you? Besides the warden that is."

The dog barked in approval.

"They do? Even _him_?"

The dog barked again.

"And he's not just teasing you?"

Another approving bark. He always questioned whether or not his words actually got through to the dog as he seemed so blissfully unaware when it came to other things.

"Can you tell mew what it is you two talk about then?"

The dog whined, dropping the wait of it's head fully onto Alistair. The dog was quite heavy when it wished to be, "Right. Something serious then."

Barkspawn began panting as if in approval.Alistair moved his arm, tube of paint still clutched intently while he began scratching the dog's head with his free hand.

There were many serious matters one could discuss with a dog.

"Maybe I'll drop it by his things later while he's busy," Alistair mumbled to himself, "It might save me some embarrassment at least."

The mabari barked once more, eyes gleaming in a manner that suggested it was still very much in the mood to play. Alistair's shoulders lowered with a sigh as Barkspawn dropped down and rolled onto it's back, inviting Alistair to rub its belly in a guise to lure him to play.

It worked.

He waited until morning to finally return the tube of paint Zevran had offered him in previous, sneaking into the assassin's tent to place it back amongst his belongings while the man was out.Or at least he thought he was out.

"Do you have some business amongst my things or were you hoping to catch my company?" the man very much absent from the tent's interior asked as Alistair made his way back out.

Caught red handed, though it wasn't anything back he had just been hoping to avoid confrontation which usually entailed further teasing. He could never understand why the Warden had picked up so many persons that enjoyed tormenting him so (though it could be argued the warden enjoyed such themselves). Alistair fumbled in mouth and mind, startled by Zevran's very sudden presence, "I, huh…. I was just putting the paint back, since I won't be needing it. I figured you'd want it, since it was yours, so I put it in your tent for you."

Zevran let out an enthusiastic laugh, "Good! Though you were free to keep it, my friend. Still, I appreciate the gesture. I may prefer you hand it to me personally in the future, however. There is little I have and treasure and I take you for no thief but it is simply… More honourable, I suppose."

"Honor from an assassin?" Alistair inclined.

"Perhaps different from that which you know," Zevran grinned, stepping passed Alistair towards his tent, "Still, I appreciate that you have taken the initiative. May you find a more suitable paint in town, yes?"

"That's the plan," Alistair murmured under his breath, feeling a blush creep up despite the fact that Zevran had hardly said anything that held perverse suggestion. _Could the two really be separate?_ It was a question pondered as the group made their way towards Denerim with the odd deterant in between.

When they finally had a bit of spare time and coin to spend in the market, Alistair weighed his options. Red paint or _green_ paint? He shifted his shield about, trying to visualize which color would look best.

"No consideration for the blue? It would certainly make it stand out," Zevran popped up beside him, eyeing the paint almost as critically as Alistair was himself.

He shook his head, "No, no, too bright. I made that mistake before, get's people cracking jokes."

"About blue paint?" Zevran said in a disbelieving tone.

"People are perceptive, alright?" Alistair frowned, deciding the green paint reminded him less of the chantry and templars and therefore ultimately the superior choice, "They see it, even in combat and then you got people calling your name and throwing you off."

"You could attribute that to merely being easy to distract," Zevran teased with a light grin, "A brown paint would be the ideal choice in your case."

"They don't have any and the paint you gave me was no good," Alistair pointed out as he paid the man for the small bucket of paint, "This way I'll have more than enough for any shields the Warden throws at me."

"Ah, but now you are stuck carrying a bucket of paint until we settle down for the evening," Zevran pointed out humorously, "Such is sometimes the way of things."

Alistair looked down at the bucket in his hand and sighed, "Yes, I suppose it is."

He had carried it around the market, to the chantry board, to the specialty shops that remised him of his childhood. Eventually he settled on attaching it to his belt but that was better in concept than execution as the bucket constantly bounced off his leg to leave the area tender. Not only that but he had to keep adjusting his belts to accommodate the sudden concentrated weight they were burdened with.

It was a relief to finally return to camp and get a moment's piece, setting the paint down so he could clearly inscribe his name onto his shield so there would be no future confusion.

"There," He declared proudly as the last curve was painted on for the 'R'. Surely there would be no more confusion over which shield belonged to whom in the instance of a scramble. Not that they had really encountered such before but old habits and all that.

He moved to seal up the bucket of paint, a stick soaring passed his peripheral which greeted his sight with a lot of dog very quickly.

"Oh no-"

He barely had time to react, the lid was not securely put in place and the bucket was knocked over in the raging path of Barkspawn. It splashed and sprayed and seeped out across the ground.

"Nooo!!" Alistair cried in dismay as he tried to save some of the pain for future use not to be ruined by dogs. He'd be more concerned about the paint that landed of him if it weren't for the ever present fact that they all very often set up covered in blood nearly every evening.

He sighed, sealing it proper before climbing to his feet to admire and dismay over the soaked through green painted state of his attire.

Oghren was laughing, a laugh that was interrupted by a hiccup.

"Yes, laugh," Alistair barked out bitterly, "You can expect no drinks from me for a least a week or so now."

There was a disappointed 'Aww' from the dwarf standing in the distance, likely the one responsible for Barkspawn's warpath in the first place. He'd have to speak with the Warden about that one's drinking habits if it was going to wreck havoc on the camp.

"I would like to say green is your color, but in this case, it appears oppositely so," Zevran mused as he made his way over, "Though, it does bring a certain brightness to the ground. Rocks as if they were grass. It is quite amusing, if I dare say so."

"Ugh," Alistair groaned, "Just point me towards the nearest body of water."

"I will guide you," Zevran offered, "The path is not as straightforward as we sometimes would have it. Besides, I have need for a bathing myself."

They walked along in silence. Crickets chirping on either side of the path as Zevran carried a torch to their destination. The silence would have been unnerving if Alistair wasn't so terribly distracted by the increasing irritation created by the slowly drying paint on his trousers and shirt. He was lucky none of it got into his shoe.

"It has been a most pleasant evening, would you not agree?" Zevran prompted in his usual light hearted tone.

"Err…. The paint hasn't really been helping with that," Alistair inclined to disagree, though without that mishap, it would have been a fine evening.

"Haha! Very true," Zevran put the torch out as they neared the water. The stars bright enough to light the open area as he set it aside somewhere where it was be safe and dry. He did not delay in stripping down to nothing and taking the first dip. A shiver ignited from him though he recovered quickly, "The water is fine. Always warmer at night."

Alistair glanced about, feeling a tad self conscious before peeling the painted cloth off and following the assassin into the water. He was still concerned. This man was hired to kill the Grey Wardens but now he was travelling with them. What sense did that make?

"It may be wise to wash your clothes as well," Zevran instructed, "If the paint sets in, it may stain."

"Oh right," Alistair moved to pull his clothes into the water with him, giving them a firm scrub to remove the paint that had settled in. You couldn't really pass paint stains off as grass stains and even if one tried, no one gets grass stains in places like that. Alistair tried to visualize how one might even accomplish grass stains in such an area, diving at the ground? Preposterous.

"You are muttering to yourself, my friend," Zevran interrupted with amusement, "Do you require some assistance perhaps?"

"No, no, I've got it," Alistair assured him, "It's just these…. Darn… Stitches."

"Let me see," Zevran waded over, taking the trousers from Alistair to make his attempt at excusing the paint from the fabric, "Ahhh… Yes, that is tricky. Work it too much and you might end up with a hole in your pants." He gave it a go, scrubbing the spot between water and fabric and the soap bar Alistair hadn't noticed Zevran brought along. "It's not perfect, but it should do for now."

He handed the pants back. "Of course, it may be a lack of foresight but I believe you may have a shortage of clothes to wear back unless you prefer to care on in your freshly washed attire."

"Oh Maker's--" Alistair sighed, "I was so caught up on the paint that I forgot." _Again_ , he added mentally.

"Not to worry, my friend," Zevran pat him on the shoulder, "I have come prepared."

He didn't elaborate, he simply went back to washing himself off and offering the soap to Alistair once he was done. Even in the pale light, Alistair took note of the markings that mirrored the one on Zevran's face and how they travelled and accentuated the curve of his body. He made a mental note to ask about it later and scrubbed the paint clean from his figure and washed his hair since he was already in the water anyways.

"What was that plan you had?" Alistair asked once he was finished, watching Zevran enjoy his time in the water as he drifted and swam about.

"Ah, yes," Zevran paddled over and got to his feet, "Simply enough, you borrow my clothes and I return naked. Whether together or separate, I will allow you to choose."

"Uh--" Alistair fell silent and stunned, "You're okay with that? I mean, won't you be cold or something?"

"Well, honestly, yes," Zevran chuckled, "But I hardly need a torch to find my way back and I can be quite quick when I need to be."

"I see…. Well, so long as you're alright with it," Alistair shrugged, "Are you certain your clothes will fit me?"

"They may be a bit snug but you are welcome to try," Zevran gestured to them, "They are quite clean. You are welcome to return them at your leisure."

Hesitantly Alistair climbed out, dried off and dressed. He retrieved the torch and his clothes, wringing out the later before having the torch lit for the walk back, "Should I go first then?"

"Certainly," Zevran waved him off in a careless manner, "A few more moments to enjoy this wonderful water under this beautiful sky."

"Alright," Alistair adjusted the fabric around his arm and started back, "I'll see you back at camp then."

The walk back was dark if not for the aid of the torch flickering and lighting the immediate area. The small path of footprints provided him with enough indication that he was headed in the right direction. The crickets were just as loud both ways coming, though provided a better backdrop than the silence of wind in the trees.

Alistair had just made his way back into the camp when he heard something moving from the brush behind him, catching him off guard and on edge. The others seemed to acknowledge it as well, reaching for their weapons as all turned to focus on the source as Alistair precariously stepped backwards.

The underbrush rustled as a figure burst forth, laughing as he darted through the camp. _Zevran_.

Alistair felt both relieved and mortified, clutching his damp clothes to his chest as the man darted about to dance around the fire, earning a variety of vocal responses from the group.

Leliana was clapping rhythmically and laughing. Wynne, least audibly of all, shook her head disapprovingly. The warden merely wore a simple smile of amusement as Zevran took Leliana by the arm and coaxed her into a quick dance by the fire before darting off to his tent to change.

It reminded Alistair of something. Several somethings. The first being one unfortunately fortunate scenario where he found himself impressively unclad. The second being that they were in Denerim and he had certain business he hoped to have resolved here, so after hanging his clothes to dry by the fire, he approached his friend and made a quiet request.


	2. Gravel like Grass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Zevran's personal quest.

Alistair sat poking the camp fire as the group of them retired from the city to make do outside of it, presently unable to afford a place for all of them to rest within the inn, even if they were to share rooms. They all stood about as their leader and friend counted the change only to dismay they were short the fifteen silver required for the night.

Leliana argued the money was best saved for supplies in any case, so they all made the trek back out to the wilderness to take shifts of guard and sleep. There were far enough from any roads or pass that any patrols would likely never spot them, making the evening air casual and quite.

Ash rose, the fire cracked and licked the wood, and Alistair sighed, reliving mentally the conversation he had with his sister earlier that day.

It had been a foolish hope, he realized that now, wishing he had only realized that sooner to save him the heartache.

Footsteps approached, a figure taking a seat beside him though some distance away, "I believe it is your turn to sleep, though you look as if such a relief as that will not free you of whatever burden you are presently carrying."

"That's rather astute of you," Alistair responded while showing little inclination to get up and put himself to bed as he rightfully should.

"Something is troubling you then, yes? Your sister perhaps? You and the warden went to see her today if I am not mistaken."

"We did," he responded with a nod, "And I should have expected she'd want nothing to do with me. ...Even though the warden was reassuring through it all, I can't help but feel…"

"Disappointed?" Zevran finished for him, earning a slight nod in agreement before proceeding, "Sometimes what we expect is often not how things are. It is better to embrace what is than what is not. You are here, you are with friends, and presently warm in front of a dazzling fire. That is very much to be grateful for."

"I suppose," Alistair lowered his head, giving into the glum feeling he had been attempting to ignore.

Zevran inched closer, the gravel shifting around as he drew ever so slightly nearer. It was the same gravel he had spilled paint on the night before. Gravel like grass. "It is a peculiar feeling of loss, is it not? To miss what you never had."

"I don't expect you to understand," Alistair interjected almost immediately.

"Quite the contrary," Zevran's smiled flickered like the flame, "I do not need to understand from your position. Your feelings are your own. I will take no claim to them but I can offer my own experience and insight if you are inclined to listen to them."

"I'm listening," Alistair spoke solemnly.

Zevran seemed to take up an idle motion as he spoke, drawing a finger through the gravel before he even began, "My mother was a prostitute, or so I was told. I have never met her. As far as I know, I have no siblings, no family." The line branched out, slowly forming a tree, "My family, as roughly as it can be called, were those who housed me in their brothel and raised me until I was bought by the Crows. The Crows, just as proverbially, could also be considered my family, if I desired to do such, but I do not. ...Both you and the Warden have spoken of this man, Duncan, in previous. I believe that is much the same way, he was to you like family. You do not need blood to be the binder of such, though in certain cases it may help."

The last remark, Alistair noted, was a joke by the way Zevran's lips turned up in the corners.

"You mean blood like darkspawn blood?" Alistair drawled.

Such earned a slight chuckle, "In this case? I cannot be brought to disagree. It is quite an effective binder, it would seem."

Alistair struggled to disagree as he had undergone the joining personally which in some manner committed him to being a grey warden for life. It wasn't certain however, with the recent political turmoil and his lineage. Some might make that push though he was hoping his friend would respect his preference not to. He released a sigh instead, steadily getting to his feet to retire until morning.

Zevran merely watched after him. The day ahead had been a simple reunited with the Arl of Redcliffe, familiar territory of the past mingled with the present.

The layout of things was faintly different, he didn't remember the dining room being the way it was now. There was something about that fact he found mildly upsetting. Familiar paths and shortcuts as a child either no longer existed or were now much to small for him to use anymore.

"Oh please, out of all of us, you should be the one who feels most at home," Morrigan chastised him for the look on his face.

"It's just not as I remember it, that's all," Alistair frowned, folding his arms.

"Things seldom ever are," it was a cool comment made in passing. One that made Alistair feel like he was a child being scolded for dirtying the rug or some other inane thing. He released a sigh, shaking his head as he carried on through the estate. One point of business to the next, though all this talk of needing a new king was making him a touch nervous. He wasn't a fit choice for a king, regardless of who his father was.

He took to wandered the halls, clearing his head with memories of old. He came admire a few of the changes but ultimately, the space just felt older than it once had. More cracks and crooks for mice and critters to make homes caught his eye, maids scrubbing the floors while muttering irritatedly to themselves. He checked his boots to make certain he hadn't been leaving a mess like he might once have. They proved clean so he carried on.

They had a long list to accomplish before the landsmeet, so sharing a residence with the Arl would serve as a temporary home base between excursions. The Warden collected him soon enough to achieve just that with Morrigan and Zevran to their side as they head out.

The Pearl had been their destination, but they found themselves stopped by trouble along the way. A fight that Zevran excused himself from, leaving but the three of them to defend themselves as the man disappeared elsewhere. Alistair failed to catch everything that had been verbally exchanged, set on defending himself to the death if necessary. It often proved to be the case and more bodies littered the floor of the city for better or worse. Reaching the Pearl was an objective tasked for a later time as only Morrigan and Alistair remained, a glaring hole in their usual quartet.

The only downside is that when they returned to the Arl's home, Zevran wasn't there, the others hadn't seen them.

A pang of betrayal began to set heavy in Alistair's chest as they grabbed Leliana before heading out again.

It should have been expected. He was an Antivan Crow, an assassin. An assassin tasked with killing the Grey Wardens. He had no reason to stay as close as he had for so long and yet the Warden seemed to believe differently, scouring all of Denerim that they could in a day before starting back out on the road.

They checked their old camp and there was Zevran, sitting by the ashes of the fire from the evening before, green paint and uprooted drawing of a tree.

A sigh drained out of him as the Warden jogged up to make sure Zevran was okay.

"They're not the only one who appears relieved," Morrigan commented softly.

He couldn't be certain if the witch was referring to him or the stoic gaze Leliana wore as she stood waiting and watching at a distance.

 

* * *

 

The day had been both long and short after that. Not much else happened, they returned to the Arl's home for rest, intent on going to the Pearl the next morning. With dinner done, Alistair figured he might as well sharpen his sword and polish his armour for whatever the next day might happen to bring.

"Alistair," Zevran caught him on his way back to his room, leaning on a door with a seriousness he often hadn't seen the other wear since they met.

 _'This is it. This is the day he finally does me in,'_ Alistair thought sullenly to himself but found curiosity guiding him to follow the other man regardless.

It wasn't until it was evident that they were alone that Zevran began to speak, but only after Alistair shut the door, "When I said the Crows were not my family, that was not entirely true. Taliesen, the man I assumed you fought to some extent and perhaps even killed today, he was as close to family as one could get without… Blood. But even there I suppose there was enough blood spread between us to make that official, ha."

His laugh though rung similar to his usual sense of otherworldly humor felt more hollow than usual. Pain crept into the features of his face. This man had no intention of hurting him, Alistair realized, he was merely just sharing the hurt he felt.

"…And, why are you telling me this exactly? You two were close then I assume," Alistair's confusion showed on his face.

"Because, you lost family too, in some regard. Or rather, yours simply was not as you anticipated it to be. I suppose I share that sentiment more now than I previously did."

"Do you… Uh…" Alistair hesitated as he tried to find something to do with his hands, "Need a hug or something?"

The laugh that followed was far more genuine, "No, no, thought I would be amiss to dismiss it completely."

"…So is that a yes or a no?" He couldn't really decide if he was the most suitable person to be providing hugs when he was fairly certain he required a lifetime of them for himself.

Zevran continued to chuckle briefly, glancing downwards as he took a moment to decide, "On this occasion… A hug would be generous, if you do not mind."

He did mind but it felt rude to retract the offer after he had already put it out there. There was an odd shuffle of feet, glances, and arms until Zevran fit against his chest. It didn't seem as if either of them really knew how to go about it as the hug was mostly just Alistair with his arms looped loosely around Zevran who remained three-fourths of the way turned. It wasn't a direct hug, it wasn't a comfortable hug, but there was a small genuinely sad and contented smile that formed on Zevran's face as a result of it even if their eyes never met.

He held it until Zevran gave a small verbal 'Ok' before pulling away.

"Thank you, my friend," he paused, "And I truly do mean that."

"…You're welcome," Alistair said softly, feeling there was a weight greater to those words than he could ever presently know.


	3. Lead the Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for vomiting, character death, violence, and alcohol use.

Zevran was laughing as they concluded business at the Pearl. Alistair felt dirty for some inexplicable reason. Maybe because there was no way to dismiss the flirtatious and sultry banter that had occurred. It was almost abrasive how casually it was tossed about the air. Thankfully the warden had enough taste to decline a visit 'below deck' or whatever suggestive language they had used. It didn't completely fly over his head, regardless of how naive the others thought him to be.

Morrigan got out of going and he was almost jealous of her. She didn't have to listen to Leliana and Zevran go on about that Pirate Captain all the way to their next destination. That wasn't to say she wasn't attractive. She was.  _ He _ just didn't need to hear them describe her features in explicit detail when there was still work to be done. It was distracting.

 

"Isabela and I go many years back," Zevran sighed fondly, "I am pleased to see her so confident and full of life now as she ever has been, perhaps even more so."

"You two were quite familiar," Leliana hinted with the briefest chuckle and slyest smirk.

"In bed and in practice. I would not wish to meet her blades in combat but I may have to come visit again soon. She may be quite dismissive of me otherwise."

"Dismissive?"

"Ah, perhaps fickle is a better word. I have a reputation of sorts to uphold, as does Isabela. We make good bedfellows though it is nothing more."

"Have you ever wished it was?"

Zevran let out another entertained laugh, "My goodness, no. I love her, but I am not in love with her, shall we say? And Isabela, she is not one to keep her boat harboured for long. It is not an arrangement that could be anything more than what it is."

"That's disappointing," Leliana remarked, her voice dropping off.

"I hope you have not already grown attached," Zevran bemused, "There are other fish in the sea, far more ample to being caught and kept."

Alistair listened, hoping that was the end of the conversation as they approached the Arl's household. A small group stood outside, distracting from their own attendance as an elf servant snuck them off to find them a way in.

All was going just fine up until they killed the Arl himself. Granted, that wasn't too much of a bad thing. The man was unusually cruel. Despite this, Anora seemed extraordinarily well composed for having been jailed. They aided her escape, only to find themselves jailed at her expense.

Alistair hadn't expected the warden to give up so easily, but Alistair wasn't entirely sure that it was a better plan to put up a fight. Probably better not to, he didn't have to worry about mending any injuries in his underwear. He'd make a comment about the slight breeze but the Warden was very much unconscious at the moment, so he muttered the comment to himself instead.

They sat upright.

Alistair brightened immediately, "Oh! You're awake! I was starting to worry."

It was a bit odd, and the idea of escaping on their own without anything to aid them so to speak was enough to let his nerves get to him, but the warden pulled through. They even managed to get their armour back, though they hardly kept it long.

Alistair was beginning to wonder just how strange this day could possibly get. It was surely approaching evening by now if not well beyond it.

They were on their way out to patrol when Alistair swore he caught a familiar face talking their way past the guards. Outside in the cool night air, Alistair let out a breath of relief. It was one the Warden shared only in their posture, relaxing at the sight of freedom just on the horizon.

Alistair glanced to him, curious about how they might get away from the two they were presently  _ assigned _ to patrol with. His friend gave a simple shrug, they could just lose them by walking too fast around some corner or knocking the two guards out but Alistair felt inspired.

"Dry cleaning!" Alistair barked suddenly, "I nearly forgot with everything I had to do today!"

The Warden looked back at him in confusion, and Alistair gave them a look to imply the excuse was an empty one.

"Don't mind us, we just forgot some personal cleaning we forgot to pick up," Alistair put his hands on the warden's shoulders, steering them away, "Don't wait up for us. If the captain of the guard asks, tell him we're not coming back."

The other two appeared confused and dismayed, "But what about your pay?"

"That's alright, you two can have it!"

The two looked on in surprise but no objections were raised. Only pleased smirks a the promise of further coin into their pockets.

It was as easy as that. Alistair had never been very good at lying but this? He impressed even himself. The warden was even grinning at him.

* * *

Oghren was laughing, or Alistair assumed that's what he was doing because there were tears pricking the corner of his eyes while a wheezing came from his throat. Maybe he was suffocating, but there was too much of a grin for that.

"Maker, you should have seen us!" Leliana grinned, "Morrigan and I were dressed as Chantry sisters. If you two had failed, we would have tried next!"

Zevran cackled, "For a moment, I almost thought they were going to take off our heads! Claiming to be brothers may have been a bit too big of a stretch."

"And you two," Oghren gathered enough breath to speak, "You two dressed as guards--!"

They lost him to a fit of wheezing laughter again.

"We should have simply waited! Instead we had to scramble for a reason to leave. ... _ After _ we stumbled upon the wreckage left in your wake," Zevran exclaimed, "We were lucky they did not put the blame on us for such. We got out before anyone had noticed. Stomach ache, I think we went with."

"The looks on their faces..!" Oghren guffawed once more. 

"How did you get out?" Leliana leaned over the table, intent to find out.

"The warden seduced a guard," Alistair stated simply.

Zevran laughed in a way that it was almost like they rolled up and out of his throat as he tilted his head back, "Good! Very good!" The man even clapped his hands lightly as if such were worthy of applause and praise.

"And then?" Leliana persisted.

"We stole some armour and pretended we were part of the guard," Alistair shrugged, "The captain singled me out at one point. Said I looked… Dumb."

He frowned at that, unsure if it was just the man's outlook or if he genuinely came across as such to others.

"Aww," Leliana leaned over, patting his head and caressing the side of his face, "You're just not always the quickest on your feet. That is why you have friends like us to aid you."

"That doesn't make me feel any better, you realize," Alistair's frown intensified, adding to Oghren's laughter until the man seemed to choke on his own saliva, sputtering for air.

Zevran handed him a glass with ease, barely distracted, "But you got away. I would say it's just as likely that the other guards are equally as bright as you are. Though perhaps even less so seeing how you two got away."

"Thanks," Alistair narrowed his eyes at Zevran's back-handed compliment. The grin that grew showed that the elf was very much pleased with himself.

"So what is next?" Leliana hummed, settling her hand on Alistair's shoulder, "We have the Queen, the Landsmeet approaches. Soon, you may find yourself in charge of this country."

"I don't want to be in charge of this country," Alistair frowned, "I never wanted to be king either, regardless of who my father is."

"I get the very feeling that such a decision may not even be up to you," Zevran regarded thoughtfully, "It's quite possible that this decision is already being made as we speak."

"Between the Warden, Anora, and Arl Eamon, you mean?" Alistair felt the weight of the situation creep back onto him.

"Eh, you guys are no fun," Oghren set his (emptied) ale down and pushed himself from the table, "I'm going to bed before any of you wretches drag me up to serious town. Heh, wretches..." The dwarf chuckled to himself as he swayed away, nearly falling over as he reached the door but steadied himself and kept going.

Leliana frowned, "...I am afraid so."

"It is not so bad though," Zevran proposed, "As a king, you could have as many illegitimate lovers as you please. I do not think the kingdom would judge you so harshly for it given the state of things either. Have one child intended for the throne and any others that may come… Well, perhaps provide them with something better than stables."

Alistair cringed, immediately dismayed by the idea, "No. Not happening. I'd rather just be a warden, alright? There's fewer of us in Fereldan now than ever. So long as some sort of peace can be struck between us and Feraldan again, I don't mind if Anora sits on the throne.  I’ll continue with whatever it is the Grey Wardens need me to do. Maker knows it’s likely a lot with this mess."

"And if she bans the Grey Wardens from Fereldan?" Leliana proposed.

"Than it'll be just like before," Alistair shrugged, "They did fine without us for 200 years or however long. I'm sure they can continue that streak after this one."

Zevran regarded him in subtlety, his gaze fixed and serious before he reached out to pour himself more wine. The offer was opened to the others at the table.

Leliana shook her head.

"Sure," Alistair accepted, and with a sigh he took up his drink, "It's been too long a day."

"I'm afraid those ahead are yet to get longer, my friend."

Leliana gave Alistair's shoulder a light squeeze as she got to her feet, "I'm going to check in on the others. Morrigan may enjoy the company as she was not able to go out on the rescue today."

Her smile suggested she intended to tease the mage, which seemed like a death wish in Alistair's eyes. He waved her off regardless, turning back to his wine once she was gone with a small mutter, "I'm amazed she hasn't gotten herself killed yet."

"You'd be surprised, my dear warden. She can be quite the smooth talker, regardless of the odds those two stand at."

"If you're suggesting even half of what I think you are, I don't want to hear it," Alistair dismissed, earning a laugh from Zevran.

"No, not that. I imagine she'd be met with bolts of  lightning ! Or whatever spells Morrigan possesses at her disposal if she were to try."

Alistair wondered if Leliana ever would. They always seemed to be bumping heads one way or another. Hardly a basis for any sort of working relationship, which brought his thoughts back to Anora. There was no way he'd ever marry her, especially if it meant a kingdom. Things would have stayed simpler if Cailan never died, if Loghain hadn't betrayed the wardens as he had.

He contemplated making a request to the warden but otherwise nursed his drink.

"Thinking hard, I see? Still yourself, my friend. You're entitled to a night of rest just as much as the rest of us," Zevran pulled him back with a sharp smile, though it was kind despite that.

"Sorry," he apologized instinctually, "I was just thinking."

"Aren't you always?" Zevran hummed, brandishing more wine to fill their cups.

* * *

 

Alistair couldn't recall the remainder of the evening, though he woke with a swollen head as the world spun about him. He groaned to himself, dismissing the idea of moving any time soon unless he wished to spill the contents of his stomach against stone slabs.

He could hear Eamon scolding him already, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he imagined Duncan laughing. It was a reassuringly distant sound played only by his mind. He drifted back to sleep for a time, flailing awake as darkspawn moved, more and more flooding above ground as the archdemon breached the surface. Alistair shuddered, his body catching up to his mind to remind him of his carelessness before.

His head throbbed, his mouth felt dry and dusty but he wasn't about to vomit from the spinning of the room so he clambered to his feet.

"My dear warden," he heard as he made his way down the hall, "If I may be so bold as to request an absence for today's journey, I would be most grateful."

Alistair found himself smirking even as he used the wall for balance, pleased to know their drinking hadn't left just him feeling the effects. The warden seemed considerate of his present status and left him be.

"Where are we headed?" Alistair asked them once they entered the hall, knowing that he was inviting yet another long day by asking such but was determined to see it through regardless.

Regret isn't the word he'd use to describe his decision, though the scent of corpses and blood certainly mixed to create a stench most fowl. He was lucky they'd had something to settle his stomach earlier or it certainly would have added to the unfortunate scenario which seemed to play out in the Alienage.

A part of him always sympathized with how unfairly the elves were treated. Second class citizens to every degree, and having set foot now in an alienage for the first time, he could see that the city only seemed insistent to remind them of such.

They had bed's though, or at least most of them appeared to. Cots for sleeping, to call their own. It wasn't great but it was  _ something _ . It was probably odd that he was getting jealous of city elves, he dismissed the thought to focus on the present.

Slavers, the worst kind of scum.

For a time he wondered if their Warden was planning on striking a deal with these men, it certainly seemed like it. The thought made him anxious, unable to decide whether it was the sort of decision he could stand beside if he had to watch these men pick up and stow away these people like cargo.

The Warden decided they couldn’t either. Striking down each foe no matter how strong their magic until the slaver in charge was left pleading for his life.

The Warden offered no mercy. Alistair realized in that moment he had very little idea of how the Warden lived prior to their Joining. Though the setup towards the brutality they delivered came across as almost personal.  A kind of revenge, perhaps though Alistair couldn't say for certain.

The next five minutes were spent freeing the elves by opening the cages and cutting off their bindings. The elves taken captive appeared as worried as they did relieved. Alistair sympathized.

It was well into the evening when they finally returned to Eamon's. His clothes and armour bloodied from battle, Alistair took but a few scraps from the kitchen and sat scrubbing his garments clean for several hours. It was tedious and tiring but necessary. Sweat traced his brow and each time he wiped it clear with the back of his forearm, more sweltered up. 

Returning to his room, Eamon and the Warden were discussing the Landsmeet once more. He wouldn't have minded nearly as much if it weren't apparent they were discussing him as an absent party.

The conversation begged the question of who his mother was. Alistair had always been given the same answer time and time again. Maid, maid, she was a maid. He half suspected Eamon had never actually met the woman himself from the way he spoke of her.

Alistair voiced his objections around the topic when the opportunity allowed. He couldn’t just let them completely decide without hearing what he had to say about it, blood heir or not. He never understood why it had to be determined by blood.

Once the conversation died down, Alistair excused himself to bed as he was intent on getting some rest before morning. Even if the other two were insistent upon staying up discussing politics all night, he had no further interest in it.

It was a relief to see the Warden depart. Whatever decision was made would be made final tomorrow. Alistair was determined to stand his ground regardless of the outcome.

 

He woke with a start, a hand on his shoulder from the warden who looked just as alarmed as Alistair felt.

"Sorry," he apologized immediately, "It wasn't you, just the dreams. What did you need?"

* * *

 

Alistair's expression was grim, knowing that today without a doubt he'd see that man's revolting face. That man, was undoubtedly Teyrn Loghain and Alistair held some reservations on whether he'd be able to blanket his fury and not strike the man down where he stood.

The time came for someone to champion the Wardens and that's when he realized even upon victory that he could not forgive this man. Before any decision could be made for him, Alistair took Loghain's life with the edge of his blade.

It was almost as fulfilling as he'd thought it to be regardless of the dismay Anora expressed.

She’d have no part marrying the murderer of her father and Alistair was inclined to share those sentiments. It came down between the two of them.

The court was torn and the Warden gave him a look that swayed between.

 

In that moment, Alistair would have stepped up to take on the role had the Warden given him the vote. He trusted his friend, regarded them as a close companion to follow to the ends of the earth, despite any difficulties they faced, they faced them together.

But if he was king, he may not be able to follow them into battle. Anora would be a decent back up if he were to fall in the fight. He contemplated this all silently until the decision was made.

The crown remained with Anora. Arl Eamon voiced his disagreement loudly over the landsmeet though none seemed willing enough to argue it further. Fereldan was tired and needed a leader.

A breath of relief escaped Alistair, "...Good, I never wanted to be King anyways."

He excused himself from the landsmeet, taking himself to a secluded spot to clean his armor and sword of Loghain’s blood.

The others steadily followed.

"This is not the first time you've taken a life on your own, I assume," Zevran crouched beside him before the others joined up.

Alistair drew a cloth along the length of the blade, pushing any access off into the grass and dirt, "On my own? No, I mean, not entirely. …Being a warden means a lot to me and what I did there wasn't just for my own justification. The lives he took deserve proper vengeance. They don't deserve to be forgotten on the dirt where he left them. If he were really a friend to my father, then I assume he wouldn't have let Cailin die as he did either."

"There are rumors that Cailin was the son of the woman Loghain loved but your father had married," Zevran commented as he watched curiously, "Perhaps he was jealous, and after many long years he was no longer to suppress what he truly felt."

"Maybe, but that doesn't make it right," Alistair rose to his feet, "And it doesn't make it right that he'd take out all of those trying to end the blight before more were claimed by it. You heard him! He denied its existence nearly to his last breath!"

"Does that make you right then? In killing him?" Zevran looked up at him for a moment.

“It might," Alistair frowned, "I couldn't let him walk out of there knowing what he'd done."

"I see," Zevran got to his feet, "Shall we go then? I believe Arl Eamon mentioned something urgent in passing."

"Yes," Alistair nodded, "Lead the way."


	4. In Vigilance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for dubious consent between alistair and morrigan. also the warden is asexual in this universe.

Morrigan had not looked pleased when he passed her in the hall towards his own room. In fact, Alistair was certain she was perhaps even more enraged than ever at him for reasons he could hardly fathom.

For one who always seemed to hate ‘doing what was right’, it was easy to have thought she might appreciate a bit of blood at what had been otherwise pompous political gathering. There was even a death involved. He was surprised she wasn’t openly congratulating him, but of course not, Morrigan was the same snake she always seemed to be. A witch to the end.

Alistair lay in his bed, tossing and turning as he attempted to get some shut eye but to no avail.

 

A knock at his door was a welcome sound. He got to his feet and pulled it open with an optimistic grin, “I see you can’t sleep either.”

It hadn’t mattered who it was who was on the other side. Even a servant girl to talk to would have been appreciated but the fact that it was the familiar face of his friend, got Alistair smiling all the larger as he made a spot small talk.

What better than to open with what had already been on his mind? He made a joke of it, hoping to gain some sympathy or at the very least acknowledgement for such pain but it seemed to only open the grounds for a discussion Alistair did not want to be having.

 

It was far too surreal.

Whenever the templars would play games of truth or dare, someone inevitably posed questions similar to this but Alistair never actually expected to have to answer one where it was a legitimate option.

_ What would you do if you had to sleep with…?  _ One would pose with almost sadistic pleasure.

But the Warden maintained a somber tone, a serious one.

They wouldn’t have asked him this if it weren’t important, if there were another way.

 

Alistair trusted the Warden, if they felt this was right then surely, it was right. He’d swallow his pride and see it through despite how little he actually wished to. If it saved his friend, if it saved him, then a moment of suffering intimacy with Morrigan would surely be worth it.

 

One relief that seemed to come from the situation was simply that Morrigan did not expect him to do anything. In fact, she practically  _ did _ everything while Alistair only had to bite his tongue rather than ask how she learned to do any of this living with her hermit mother in the wilds.

She would have laughed if he had. She did laugh when the question managed to slip out with a crack in his voice.

 

“How do you think animals reproduce?”

“I do not want to think about how animals reproduce,” Alistair shivered as she touched him, averting his eyes to any other space in the room than that of her face. He doubted she took any offense.

“Then simply attribute my knowledge to years of observation,” Morrigan stated lowly, and honestly if he shut his eyes and pretended she was anyone other than Morrigan, that might have been sexy.

He lamented ever thinking of that night ever again once it was over. Morrigan seemed content to finish the ritual by herself whatever that entailed so Alistair was quick to collect his things and see himself out.

He hadn’t even bothered to dress really, juggling his shed attire and he sped back to his room barefoot. 

It was a bit breezy.

 

The morning after, he had taken the precaution of standing furthest from wherever Morrigan was situated, which was easy enough because she seemed to prefer standing furthest from the group. 

They spent the next week marching. The darkspawn were approaching Redcliffe and if they did not arrive soon then it was possible the entire village would be laid to waste. Alistair dreaded the thought. It kept him  _ long in the face _ , as Leliana described.

 

Dreams of the darkspawn and the archdemon haunted his dreams, keeping him restless both asleep and awake. It was wearing on him and certainly the Warden with it though the Warden did a better job of hardly letting it show.

 

“Drink, my friend,” Zevran took a seat next to him one evening while they broke for camp, “You’ve barely had any food or drink. Some fear you are becoming undead.”

“I fear more for those faced with the darkspawn, honestly,” Alistair offered in a dry humor.

Neither laughed.

“You will need your strength for the battles ahead. It will only get harder if you do not take care of yourself. I think it is fair to say you are a valuable member of this team, perhaps more so than some others,” Zevran offered with an earnest touch. The man’s sincerity was a rarity to be missed by most.

 

Alistair took the waterskin back and poured the liquid into his mouth, drinking more than he realized he required.

“Thank you,” Alistair passed the drained waterskin back.

“Think nothing of it,” Zevran pat him on the shoulder, taking the leather bag to refill it at the next opportunity. He did not linger at Alistair side, taking his business passed Barkspawn and gave the dog a quick ruffle as he passed. Barkspawn however seemed all too eager to play and followed Zevran with expectations of such.

“Am I to expect your company down this lonely road?” he asked the mabari who produced a proud bouf in response, “Ah, I see. Perhaps this will entertain you then.”

Zevran produced a cartwheel, even with the waterskin in hand, he demonstrated perfect balance and form.

Barkspawn’s excitement rose in the form of a bark and abundant tail wagging. It was only moments before the mabari made their own attempt to mimic such an action by getting down into the dirt and rolling awkwardly over by it’s shoulders. The attempt was not particularly graceful, the mabari seemed to realize this.

Alistair chuckled, trying his best to keep any amusement to himself.   
“I’m afraid you will have to find a way to adapt and make it your own,” Zevran encouraged, “But I may show you again if you desire.”

Barkspawn gave an approving bowf and so Zevran performed yet another practiced cartwheel of elegance and control. Barkspawn made another attempt to mimic, this time rolling across their back before getting back up. Their tail wagging proudly.

“Much much better,” Zevran praised them, “You will be an expert in no time.”

 

…

..

.

 

Redcliffe lived up to it’s name more than usual with fires signalling the first signs of destruction. Smoke clouded the air overhead as they made their approach. Alistair’s heart sunk fast into his stomach, giving him a wretched feeling.

Their plan was hastily thrown together with ill timing. They could do nothing for those they hadn’t been able to reach in time, they could only defend what was left.

 

Darkspawn weren’t known for their tactics, but Duncan had always told him better. Their hive mind might not be the only mind they knew but Alistair’s experience with any that deviated from such was fairly limited. Their recent, yet not so recent encounter with the broodmother had been only the slightest example of that though many time it caused Alistair to wonder.

 

Very few late and quiet nights, Duncan would speak of an emissary he met. He’d talk about impossible feats like scaling and dragging and staring death in the face as his comrades saved him. The fear and adrenaline matched by just as agonizing mourning. He often held his gaze at a distance. Pain would seep into his features with the kind of burden Alistair noticed him carry with a heavier heart over the years.

 

Duncan would pray after that.

He was never a particularly religious man, not to the same extent Alistair had been raised. There was a light in Duncan though, a passion and grand sense of humor that Alistair liked to think he inherited even if the man wasn’t his father. Duncan had cursed himself for it too.

 

It brought Alistair a sense of serenity on the battlefield. Instead of carrying Duncan’s death as a weight he had been unable to prevent, it pushed him forward.

He could raise his sword now knowing Duncan had been avenged. That the countless wardens Loghain had slew had seen justice.

 

Alistair fought tirelessly.

 

For Duncan.

For the Grey Wardens.

They would drive back the blight and kill the Archdemon.

 

They would be victorious.

 

He drove his blade deep into on darkspawn and drew it out to cross the neck of another. They pushed back the hoard from Redcliffe. It was their victory.

 

But the blight was intensifying. Even with all the troops they had called to aid them, they had other problems. The archdemon was moving and this time it moved to Denerim.

 

Alistair did not think the city’s defense would last long enough for them to make the journey back, but he frequently prayed that it would. He steeled himself at the sobering thought of destruction they would surely walk late upon.

He just hoped it wasn’t  _ too _ late by the time they did arrive.

The journey back proved more stressful than the trek to Redcliffe, even the small antics around camp seemed somber in tone. All of them were doing their own to prepare for the worst.

 

Leliana recited the Chant of Light bit by bit every night, occasionally joined by Wynne or the Warden. The third night of travel, Alistair caved into sharing a prayer with her himself, unable to completely undo the Chantry’s teachings. He’d rather have piety than succumb to other fears of doubt.

 

The city was just as ruined as one might expect, but it wasn’t anything they hadn’t seen before. This was what a Warden’s duty was, the last line, the last call to arms.

 

Fires, dead bodies, hordes of darkspawn. It was a repeat of every horrible nightmare ever conceived. It was near chaos to the very end.

No route was easy with so many ogres making a stand at the end of every street, with hurloks and other darkspawn bleeding in to fill any points of weakness in their defense. With each enemy taken down, Alistair could feel both adrenaline and ache creep into his body.

 

Potions were guzzled and dropped empty on the street, they slowly made their ascent to where the injured archdemon rested.

His friend took up the blade for the final blow, struck and survived, though the impact should have easily killed them. Astonishment clambered their faces as the warden rose to stand with the archdemon dead.

 

The blight had been stopped. Fereldan survived.

Alistair was so relieved he collapsed to his knees and wiped tears of relief from his eyes. ...Even though his gauntlets were thoroughly soaked in darkspawn taint.

 

It was a dilemma he groaned about in passing, though it granted the Warden a smile and a laugh.

They spent the remainder of the day collecting the dead, killing any lingering darkspawn, and putting fires out as best they could. The city had seen enough destruction that preparations to clean up and repair would surely come underway soon enough.

What Alistair had not expected was Anora’s call of urgency for their company. A ceremony was held within the week to publicly announce the events that had transpired and with it, the proclamation that his friend would be anointed a new title. _ The Hero of Fereldan. _

 

Alistair was just a bit giddy to hear it, an overwhelming sense of pride to hear his friend earn such a high honor. He could think of no one more suited for it.

As the ceremony ended, they gathered one final time to share their congratulations and farewells. In some cases, even hugs.

 

Alistair was free to return to his warden ways and recruit new troops to help rebuild what had been lost, as did his friend. Their goal a common one and with the numbers slimmed down to just them within Fereldan. The new title would surely be enough to invite many to seek them out in an attempt to repay the Grey Warden for their deeds. It seemed wise to Alistair that they travel in each others awhile longer.

 

“Do you mind if I come?” Zevran asked, lingering the longest out of the group, “I know… I have already spoken with the  _ Hero of Fereldan _ on this matter however, I was not aware you would be coming with us.”

“Us?” Alistair raised his eyebrows, “We’re the only wardens left.”

“Of that, I am aware,” Zevran chuckled, “Still, it seems only fair I ask your permission as well. I did try to kill you both some time ago. I will understand if you object.”

Alistair glanced to the warden who merely offered a small smile and shrug in response.

“You haven’t put a knife in our back this far,” Alistair smiled, “If the  _ Hero of Fereldan _ trusts you, then I trust you.”

“Then what are we doing standing around here?” Zevran chuckled, “Let us be off.”

 

-

 

Their sizable party was down now to three, (four if one included Barkspawn, which Alistair did) reminding him of the earlier days of their journey. The air about it differed however, the tension carried prior seemed to soften. There was no rush, no immediate crisis. They were free to take things at any pace they desired which allowed Alistair the opportunity to notice little things he hadn’t been able to before.

Like how Barkspawn would sniff out treats Zevran hid about, or how the warden would sometimes tap various rhythms against the dinner pot as they cooked up a meal.

Most interesting to Alistair was how Zevran seemed to desire physical affection. Alistair hadn’t been oblivious to the man’s flirtations before but he certainly became more aware of it now as Zevran would push blatant sexual suggestions towards the warden only be turned down and met with a hand to hold. Sometimes they even went so far as to curl up against one another but never any further.

When he asked privately, the warden explained their relationship wasn’t romantic.

 

Camp became a time to share stories as a group, often leading with one from Zevran as one vague topic sparked up an experience that reminded him of ‘this one time with the Crows…’

They were often entertaining stories, urging laughter from the company kept as they accidentally spilled food for Barkspawn to clean up.

It was a feeling that reminded him of his early adventures with Duncan, a family he had never known. Duncan had always filled the role of a father and mentor to him, and with the warden, they felt a bit like a younger sibling who excelled greatly in ways he never could. Barkspawn was easily the family dog, fitting in the bottom corner of a family portrait that was never painted nor framed. When he thought of the metaphor at length, he wasn’t certain where Zevran fit.

A live in cousin? Alistair had a half brother and there was certainly no manner in which Zevran’s relationship reminded him of that which he shared with Cailin. He didn’t even really share much of a relationship with Cailin, or even the other sister he had in Denerim. The Hero of Fereldan was far more a sibling than either of those two could have ever been.

 

Alistair sighed, rolling over as he tried to fall asleep. His mind remained active with the metaphor, filling in the former members of their team with the various familial roles. Wynne as the caring grandmother, or even lecturing mother wouldn’t have been much of a stretch. Oghren was the estranged uncle, Sten fit the role of a slightly sterner uncle who’s sense of humor was hard to discern. Leliana as the sometimes preachy goody-toe-shoed sister, or cousin with a wild side. He supposed she could fit in either role if not both. Morrigan… He didn’t want to think about being related to Morrigan when she would be having his child, somewhere, somehow. A weird demonic god baby who maybe had his nose or eyes mixed in with Morrigan’s pitch black hair and probably stared unblinking at every person who walked by.

Alistair shivered at the thought, curling into himself.

 

“Trouble sleeping?” Zevran asked from his own resting place as he propped himself up on one arm in a sort of lounging pose.

“Huh? Oh,” he shifted about, looking for a more comfortable position to lay in, “I was just… Thinking.”

“There is a great many things to be thought about, but I get the feeling whatever on your mind is more troubling than most.”

Alistair lowered his eyes to the earth resting beneath them, “It seems a bit too crazy to be real, honestly.”

“Defeating an archdemon? I agree, still I have pinched myself enough times now to reassure myself that is indeed reality,” Zevran smirked.

“Well, that…” Alistair sighed, “Though that’s still easier to believe.”

“You refer to something else then?”

“I am referring to something else,” Alistair agreed, shutting his eyes. A demon baby.

Zevran remained silent for a time then opened his mouth once more, “I understand if it something you feel you should not talk about, and I understand further if it is something you feel you cannot…” Zevran paused to search for the phrase, “Entrust me with whatever detail it might contain. I have a certain elusiveness to myself for certain. I am not one who easily shares my thoughts or mind but should you ever wish to express your concerns, I would be happy to listen. Or not listen. I could plug my ears and shut my eyes if you’d prefer merely the figure of someone nearby to talk to. Then, once you are finished getting whatever words that burden you off your chest, I may offer you generic advice that could apply to a many great situations.”

“You’re rambling,” Alistair faced Zevran with amusement.

“I am known to talk my way through and out of many situations, but rest assured, my point remains simple. If there is something you wish to discuss, I offer my aid to you,” Zevran gave a rolling bow from his position.

“It’s not something I’m  _ eager _ to discuss,” Alistair cringed, “So I promise it has nothing to do with whether I trust you or not, it’s just…” His throat grew tight around the words he produced, “I’m... going to be a father..? Except I’m never going to be able to meet my son.”

Was that his fear? Nevermind the fact his son would be mothered by a witch who conceived him purely to embody that of an old god, but the fact Alistair would never meet him or be an active part of his child’s life.

Alistair shut his eyes at the thought.

 

“You’ve had sex?” Zevran sounded surprised.

Alistair let out a huff of hot air, “Yes, I  _ have _ . Though it was hardly with someone I would have wanted.”

Zevran was sitting up fully now, “No? And yet you took this opportunity to conceive?”

Alistair wanted to hide away, knowing how awful it must have sounded, “Not by choice, I mean, it was my choice but… It’s a little more complicated than that, okay?”

Zevran remained silent before casting out a question, “...Was it Morrigan?”

“Oh Maker,” Alistair swore, switching sides so Zevran could only see his back.

“It was,” Zevran decided, “I had assumed something happened but it was very much unclear as to what with all the tight lips on the matter. Still, I cannot blame you. She seems the type to make a most convincing argument when there is something she desires.”

Alistair made a strangled sound at the statement, doing his best not to recall the way she had rather skillfully made work of him.

“I don’t need this. I never asked for this. In fact, I think I hear the Maker calling me right now. Ready to seat me at his side by making me erupt into a small fire right here and now,” Alistair rambled off in his embarrassment.

 

“Now, now,” Zevran shifted closer, “It is a moment passed. In future, you will have the opportunity to procreate with whomever you wish.”

“Wardens aren’t meant to have children,” Alistair wheezed, “Something about the darkspawn blood. Under normal circumstances, it may not have even been possible. I think at least, that’s what Duncan said. I never even wanted to be a father. ..That’s what I thought at least.”

He rolled over onto his back at the light touch of Zevran’s hand on his shoulder, “Now I’m no better than my father. All I can hope is that my child grows up in better conditions than I ever did. I’m not sure I can trust Morrigan with that but she’s… determined at least.”

“With the way she has spoken about her mother,” Zevran spoke gently, “One can only hope she means to do things differently. Perhaps she will prove us all wrong in some way.”

“She is quite spiteful,” Alistair agreed.

Zevran smiled, his features lacking their usual tension. Alistair supposed the man was actually more tired than he lead on, making Alistair feel all the worse for having kept him up so long.

“Sorry,” he apologized softly, “I’ll let you get back to bed.”

Zevran hummed, settling down on the ground next to Alistair, his hand still placed gently against Alistair’s shoulder, “Only if you find yourself some rest as well.”

Alistair drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes, “We’ll have to contact the wardens in Orlais.”

“Tomorrow,” Zevran insisted softly. 


End file.
